Page 67 of Because of Her

Every inch of me burns with the need to stop her, but I let her go. I’ve been fighting for us this whole time, hoping, praying, she would feel the same way. I start to shake, my pulse racing as a darkness overwhelms me.

“So let me prove it.”

She turns before she leaves. “I’m trying.”

CASSIDY

Amira finishes my hair as I rub some tinted moisturiser over my face. Once she has unrolled the final heatless curler from my bangs, I give her a quick squeeze.

“Thank you for doing my hair.”

“If I didn’t, you know you’d be at a fancy winery with a messy bun,” she says, pulling out her own curlers.

She’s not wrong. My idea of done up hair is a brief run through with my decades old straightener. But Amira has the skills of fancy hair and makeup that I can only dream about.

Amira looks at me through the mirror, rolling her eyes at my hair incompetence.

“I’m going to have to teach you one of these days.”

Her arm reaches up to grab at me and I take the opportunity to tickle her.

“Fuck, stop.” She squeals, batting at my hands and kicking my shins.

I step out of the bathroom, calling truce.

“Looking forward to choosing bridesmaid dresses?”

Amira groans, making a gagging motion with her tongue. Her cousin is in full wedding preparation mode, and as a bridesmaid, Amira has been dragged along every step of the way. That, plus her parents’ extra pressure to ‘settle down’, I don’t blame her for being exhausted, and over it.

“She said she wanted brown. Brown. Who in their right mind wants brown for their wedding colour?”

“You always call her a shithead, maybe she is sticking with her strengths?”

“Yeah, great, except she isn’t the one who has to wear it.”

My phone dings. My Uber has arrived.

“I’ll see you later.” I give Amira a quick kiss on the cheek.

As I race to the door and throw on my favourite boots, she yells down the hall, “Enjoy getting day drunk with your sister!”

I had Noah put our names on a table for my father’s birthday lunch, but even though it’s relatively close to the city, it’s still a bit of a drive to get there. I settle into the back seat of the Uber and, like I often find myself doing, my thumbs open up the message thread with Callum.

Our text history reveals the intense ups and downs of our relationship, every high matched by an equal low. Reading through, it’s clear I am the common denominator in every low. I freaked out at every step. The blank spaces where my texts should sit stare back at me.

The cursor flashes, and I know I should say something, to let him know I’m still here. But the words don’t come. There’s a line that needs to be drawn between us, but I don’t know how to pick up the pen. I don’t knowwherethe line needs to go.

By the time the Uber drops me off in the tree lined carpark, I’m twenty minutes late.

“I’m so sorry,” I announce as I walk up to the table where my dad, sister and brother in-law are all sitting.

Without the large bridal table and cake display taking pride of place, the winery has a cosy feel. Barn style wooden beams cross the cathedral ceiling, pendant lights hanging lowabove the tables. The walls are made entirely of tinted glass, with a wide doorway opening out to a stunning casual decking area. A walking track flows down the sloped grass, to the grapevine lined fields below.

“It’s okay,” my dad says, standing up to greet me, and I reach my arms around him for a hug.

“Happy birthday,” I say as we pull apart, before turning to greet Madison and her husband. “Thank you for planning this, Mads.”

Our relationship with our father is strained, to say the least. After our mother walked out, he turned in on himself, leaving us to fend for ourselves more often than not. It wasn’t until we were young adults that he started making an effort. In trying to make up for lost time, he can be a little overbearing. I used to be the one protecting Madison from his incessant questions. But since she married her Oliver, and I moved back to Melbourne, the protecting tends to go the other way.

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